A Most Ordinary Miracle
by r4ven3
Summary: This story is the 2nd part of a trilogy which began with "While She Was Gone". It picks up the story of H & R almost 2 years on, and takes place during the last half of Series 8. Chiefly AU & mostly fluffy. A story in 3 parts.
1. Chapter 1

_**This story is a follow-on from "While She Was Gone", but it can also stand alone. It opens 2 years after the end of `While She Was Gone', some time late in Series 8. Ruth and Harry are together, having been married almost 2 years.**_

_**And the title is not mine – it comes from a poem by Barbara Kingsolver.**_

* * *

_I need ten full moons exactly  
For keeping the animal promise.  
I offer myself up: unsaintly, but  
Transmuted anyway  
By the most ordinary miracle._

_**Barbara Kingsolver – from "Ordinary Miracle"**_

* * *

Ruth is restless. It might be their day off together, and Harry may have ordered her to stay in bed so that he can spend the day doing things to her, the mere mention of which would once have made her face and neck turn the colour of cooked beetroot, but she's been overcome with the need for order in her life. The kitchen cupboards need cleaning and rearranging, she needs to sort through her books once and for all, and the spare room is long overdue for a spring cleaning. Except that it's autumn, the weather outside is bleak, the bed is warm, Harry's body is warmer, and she's still snuggled up next to him. Maybe, just maybe she can work off some of her restless energy in other ways.

She shifts her body in the bed so that her back is resting against his chest. She leans into him, her bottom nestling into that glorious hollow between his hips and thighs. His breathing changes slightly, and he coughs. She turns her head to see hazel eyes staring at her, the trace of a smile on his lips.

"Was that your idea of foreplay, Ruth?"

"Just testing the waters," she replies.

"The _waters_," he whispers, his mouth close to her ear, "are very, _very_ warm."

"The waters, to continue the analogy, are extremely hard. How do you do it, Harry? Morning after morning."

"Morning after morning I wake up next to a very sexy and curvy young body."

"Oh really! I hope you tell her you're married, and that your wife is very a jealous woman, and has even mastered a couple of karate moves. That curvy young thing had better watch out. So there!"

Harry chuckles, and reaches out to turn her around to face him. She nestles close to him, sliding her arms around his waist. Her fingers settle on his back, and begin to tap out messages in Morse Code. Two dots. Dot two dashes. Her fingers move quickly through the message. Heat radiates from his body and warms her.

"Ah," he says quietly, "You've either tapped out _I want you, _or you have early onset Parkinson's. I'm really hoping you want me, Ruth, because the way things are headed here …..."

He leans in and puts his lips on hers. It still astounds her that a man who acts as Harry does in his job, in the field, with such attention to order and detail and protocol, with his emotions fully in check, can at home be so soft and pliable, so emotionally present. It has taken them time and effort to get where they are now. They have spent hours of their married life talking and crying and raging at one another, and the result has been worth the effort; the risks they have taken have paid off. They feel safe with one another, although were she being honest, Ruth still sees signs in Harry that he fears he will one day lose her, perhaps not to another man – she has never given him cause to fear that - but to some unpredictable event which swallows her up and tsunami-like, takes her away from him. To his credit, he no longer acts out his insecurities, although she knows he still has them.

The kiss deepens, as Harry's hands wander over her body – her neck, shoulders, breasts, stomach. His hand is gentle as it hovers over her lower abdomen. He draws away from the kiss and looks at her. "Are they still alright in there?"

"It's an _it_, Harry, not a _they_. At least, I hope it's not a they. You're not willing us to have a multiple birth, are you?"

He chuckles quietly, smiling at her, all the while his hand is caressing her lower abdomen, and with each circular stroke, his fingers dip into her pubic hair, until one finger finds her clitoris. Ruth squirms under his touch, suddenly unable to speak. He again leans towards her and kisses her, but this time his kiss is deep, and his tongue finds hers and their tongues touch and dance, at the same time his thumb massages her clitoris. She feels his finger suddenly inside her, finding her sweet spot, and after that it is just stars and bright lights and show tunes. He knows her so well, and can play her body like a violin.

After she settles, he holds her close. This is her favourite time of all in their lovemaking. After a while she feels him hard against her hip. He gives an almost imperceptible thrust against her. He is dropping hints. She is still wet, and he is very hard, very ready, so she turns towards him and pushes him on to his back before she straddles his body. She knows how much he enjoys this. He watches her with lust-filled eyes as she moves her body closer to him, but not quite touching. She hovers, her wetness just touching him, glancing across the tip of him – he groans, "_Please_ Ruth," and pushes himself upwards towards her – before she settles on to him, taking his length inside her, slowly, bit by bit. He sees the sensations pass across her face as she adjusts to his length. She has learned to simply let go while in this position; he has taught her that. She closes her eyes while she moves, his fingers busily travelling over her body, glancing gently over her breasts, now sensitive, until one finds her clitoris. She climaxes quickly, then grasps his hands to steady herself so that she can continue without collapsing off him. She holds still while her body settles. Harry exhibits incredible self-control not to have given in to his own need for release. She continues moving on him, all the while watching his face for signs he's close, feeling him inside her, knowing he can only last just so long. Then Ruth speeds up, her hands now on his shoulders, her eyes closed. This time she feels him beginning to twitch inside her, and then he comes, and they both gasp at how deeply he plunges into her. Harry's last act before he lifts her off him is to vibrate his thumb across her clitoris. This takes her once more into her personal theme park, and the pulsing of her vaginal walls pushes him out of her. She collapses on to his chest, spent, exhausted, and very happy.

* * *

_Being married to Harry is like having orgasms on tap. _

She once said that to Jo – dear Jo – when her young friend had asked what it was like being married to Harry. Silly question, really. How does one describe being with someone who brings so much joy, such ecstasy, comfort and love, and more than a modicum of frustration just by being who they are? And then there are his glorious cuddles. Wrapped in his arms and being held against the expanse of his chest is her favourite place in the world. Ruth suspected that Jo was looking for a more sedate answer like: _It feels safe_, or _It's rather nice_, or _He's very helpful in the kitchen, _all of which are true, but do not paint a clear picture.

"Jesus, Ruth," Jo had exclaimed, "that's way too much information."

"Sorry," she'd said, "I keep forgetting how young you are."

"I'll never be able to look Harry in the eye again," Jo had wailed, but had joined Ruth in laughter.

"Harry has the best hands," Ruth had continued, to which Jo had put her fingers in her ears and sung _`la lala lala lala' _rather loudly.

And it seemed wrong – unjust – that Jo had to die so young, and in such a tragic way. She had made the ultimate sacrifice. Jo's death still hurt. Adam's death still hurt. Perhaps one of the reasons she and Harry had such a hearty and active sex life was as a means of blocking out the pain of so many deaths, all of which seemed so unnecessary. In sexual release there is always the potential for new life.

And now here they are, bringing another life into the world. They hadn't been trying to conceive, but nor had they been not trying. Since they had married they had not used contraception, hoping for their own miracle. After eighteen months of nothing happening, they thought no more about it, content that they had each other, and that had always been enough for them …... and it was only then that they conceived. Ruth was ecstatic - and scared - while Harry was proud, so proud he'd told everyone who would listen. He'd even managed to get a message to Graham through Catherine, and Graham had texted him back: _That's cool about the baby. Hope it's a boy. I always wanted a brother._ This had led to Harry's first meeting with Graham in almost a decade. It had been awkward at first, and they are still finding their way. Even before it is born, this baby is helping to build bridges.

"Harry," she says, checking first that he's still awake, "do you think we might be traumatising our child?"

"How could we possibly be traumatising our baby? You're only ten weeks pregnant, Ruth."

"Erm …... all the sex we have, and it's not quiet and sedate sex. We're sometimes quite noisy, and we're active, too."

"I read somewhere that babies in utero pick up on the moods and emotions of their parents, especially their mothers. How would you describe your mood right now, Ruth?"

"I'm ecstatic, Harry. I'm so happy I could burst right open."

"I'm happy too, so we should have a happy baby."

"What if he or she isn't happy?"

"Then we'll tell it some jokes."

"Harry, I'm serious. I read somewhere that there's a high incidence of depression in children."

"Sweetheart, how can you and I have a depressed child? We're so happy we're unbearable to be around."

"What about Graham?" Ruth regrets the words as soon as they are out. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Harry doesn't reply straight away. "It's a fair comment, Ruth. By the time he was growing up, his mother and I were not at all happy together, and I was away more often than I was at home, so Graham only saw me occasionally. There was always a lot of distance between Jane and me. I think that children reflect their parents back to them. If that's true, then Graham's behaviour as an adult tells me something about myself."

"What …... what has it told you?"

"That I was disconnected, angry, depressed. My anger drove me in my work. I've buried my true feelings for so long. That is, until you showed up." He looks down at her, a slight smile on his face, his free hand pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then trailing down her cheek to her neck. "I have you to thank for the happiness I have now."

Ruth lifts her head so that she can kiss him. It is a warm and loving kiss. "I love you," she says quietly.

Ruth snuggles closer to him, aware now that her restless mood has settled. But lying in bed all day won't get the spare room cleaned out. "Harry, you promised me that you'd help me today."

"I know. Where do you want to start?"

"I think we should eat first. Then I'd like to tackle the spare room."

"What say you start on the spare room, while I clean out the kitchen cupboards?"

"No, Harry, that's not what married people do. We'll start in the kitchen – together – and then when that's done, we can – together – sort out the spare room. We need to paint it a different colour."

"Not today, I hope. There are only so many hours in a day."

"No, not today, but definitely before our baby is born."

* * *

Ruth is relieved that she is amongst the twenty five percent of pregnant women who experience no unpleasant symptoms in pregnancy – no nausea, no vomiting, nothing but a pervading sense of mummyness. Ruth is tired, of course, but all in all she is looking forward to becoming a mother. Harry wears his pride at being an expectant father in everything he says and everything he does. He is bursting with it. Ruth, on the other hand, wears her happiness close to her chest. At ten weeks she's not yet showing. She sometimes plays a game while she is out in public where she imagines that she is the only person in the world who knows there's a new life growing inside her, and that no-one else knows. This makes her feel special, and it also makes her feel powerful. In secrecy there is also power.

Since she and Harry committed to one another while they spent those weeks alone in the cottage in North Yorkshire, Ruth has been happy, happier than she had believed she was capable of being. There have been many times during the past two years when she and Harry have only to exchange a certain look, the unspoken message between them being how close they may have come to never seeing one another again. In these moments they are drawn together in a long look, or an embrace, to remind themselves of what they have and what they almost lost. For Ruth, these are the happiest and also the saddest of times they share, the times when the past and the future intersect and entwine, just as their bodies entwine in a loving embrace. In acknowledging what-may-have-been, rather than what was and is now, they renew their vows to be together forever. She and Harry are creating their own secrets, and it is these secrets which form the glue which binds them. It is their shared secrets which strengthen and empower.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: This chapter is set in Ep 8.08, but due to the complex nature of the episode, and the story-line I'd created for H & R, I have heavily edited the events leading up to the bombing of the hotel.**_

* * *

_Two weeks later – Harry's & Ruth's house – 6.42 am:_

"You do remember that my first trimester ultrasound is today?"

"It's in my diary, and I've set my phone's alarm to 3 pm. I'll be there."

"Even if nuclear war breaks out?"

"Even then, Ruth." Harry stepped out of the en suite bathroom, where he'd been knotting his tie in front of the mirror. He stepped next to the bed where Ruth still languished against the pillows. He found himself wondering if cancelling his breakfast meeting with Andrew Lawrence would be such a breach of protocol. Ruth was naked under the duvet, her eyes were – well – inviting, and her face had that sleepy, drowsy, slow look, the one she woke up with, the one which drove him crazy. Then there was her body …... oh, her body called to him. In the mornings it was soft and warm and curvy and wet – where it should be wet – and her lower abdomen was just beginning to show signs that a baby – his baby, _their_ baby – was growing inside her. He wanted – no, _longed_ – to tear off his clothes, climb in beside her, and grind himself into her. He wanted to lose himself inside her.

"Harry, you have a meeting in a half hour." She knew that look. She'd seen it often enough. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

Then she slid out of bed, still naked, of course, and stepped right up to him. He could feel the warmth of her body through his clothing, and he stifled a gasp. The fact that they had made love at midnight, after a long and difficult day on the Grid, meant little. He wanted her now. She grasped his tie in one hand and drew his face down to her.

"Ruth ….." was all he managed to say before she kissed him.

"That's a goodbye kiss, Harry. That kiss said: _I'll see you at work, and don't forget the hospital appointment at 3.30._"

"Or you'll divorce me if I do?"

"No, darling, I would never threaten you with that. By marrying you I committed myself to being with you for life. I am not about to play around with that commitment. It means everything to me, as I hope it does to you."

She let go of his tie, then stepped around him on her way to the bathroom. She was in the doorway to the bathroom when she turned around. "This will be the third time I've had to reschedule this scan, Harry, owing to emergencies of the kind which threaten world peace. I have no intention of rescheduling again. The centre of London could be under attack from Al Quaida, the Taliban, and a bunch of northern football hooligans armed with broken bottles and molotov cocktails, and we'll be at the hospital, having that scan, as planned."

She then entered the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Harry sighed heavily, realising that he had almost given in to his baser instincts. Women were definitely the stronger sex, of that he was certain.

He was worried. Later that day the Presidents of both India and Pakistan, as well as the US Secretary of State, were meeting in an attempt to prevent full scale conflict between the two countries of the sub continent. Ruth could not have scheduled a more tense day for her scan, but he would be there, no matter what. He had faith in Ros and Lucas, and of course, Tariq. The talks would go ahead without interference from Nightingale, and they would succeed. He had to believe that.

* * *

_The Grid – 12.13 pm:_

Ruth walked past Tariq's desk to see him following the news reports on News 24. She hovered by his desk, conscious that his pensive look may hide so much more.

"I have family in Pakistan," Tariq said. "My cousin lives in Lahore."

He then set in motion on his computer the graphical representation of a nuclear blast over Lahore. Ruth, looking over his shoulder, saw the whole of the middle of Lahore turn black. Tariq looked up at her, needing to say no more to drive the point home.

"Don't lose faith, Tariq," she said. "The talks later today will sort this out. I'm sure of it. We have to believe they will."

As she walked away, Ruth wasn't at all sure of it. More than that, she wasn't at all sure that Harry's and her decision to bring a child into the world at this time was such a good idea. The world seemed to be crumbling all around her, and there was nothing she could do about it. Another more demanding thought crept in. When she and Harry were safely ensconced in the cottage in North Yorkshire, Nightingale were already forming and planning their drive to restructure the world, and so ensure a world order which suited certain factions in the West and in China. Perhaps she and Harry had been better off in ignorance of this. When they were aware of the threats, they gave everything they had to prevent them being carried out. When unaware of such threats they were happy in their ignorance.

* * *

_St Thomas' Hospital – 3.27 pm:_

Ruth had prepared herself to have to experience this, the first ultrasound of their child, on her own. As much as she wanted him there, she'd expected Harry to have been caught up with the security at the hotel where the talks were being held. As she turned into the corridor which led to Maternity Outpatients, there he was, sitting alone and looking decidedly uncomfortable amongst the women in various stages of pregnancy, with crawling babies and toddlers milling around them noisily. Ruth momentarily stopped and watched him, this man who had committed himself to her, and now to their unborn child. He was leaning forward in the narrow plastic chair against the wall, his elbows on his knees, with his hands loosely linked between them. He appeared to be watching a baby girl who sat on a blanket not far from where he sat. The baby was staring at him with wide blue eyes, and he was making faces at her, trying to make a connection. He was trying so hard, but the baby was looking at him with an expression which teetered between astonishment and tears.

Ruth quietly sat down beside her husband. "Glad to see you're making friends," she said quietly.

Harry turned to her and took her hand and lifted it to his lips, his eyes holding hers. As he performed that small gesture of love, Ruth noticed the eyes of several other mothers watching them, some with envy, and others with a smile of knowing. Ruth was only one of two women who were accompanied by a male partner.

"That kid is a tough audience," Harry said at last, referring to the baby girl on the blanket.

"She's obviously used to a higher class of interaction. Maybe you should have tried communicating with her in binary code."

"You spend too much time around Tariq, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry if I kept you waiting," Ruth added.

"You're not late, Ruth. I was early. I was determined to not miss this. I just hope that the talks go through without a hitch."

"Sorry - can we just not think about the talks for the next half hour or so?"

Harry nodded, reaching across to again take her hand in his. While they sat waiting in silence, Ruth felt his thumb slowly and gently caressing the back of her hand. She found the gesture at once reassuring and arousing. It helped allay any nervousness she felt about what the scan may reveal. They only had to wait another fifteen minutes.

"Mrs Pearce?" a voice called. When both Harry and Ruth stood, the woman smiled. "And?" she added, looking at Harry.

"I'm Ruth's husband," he said, shaking her hand.

"I'm Caroline," the woman said, "and I'll be performing your ultrasound."

Harry sat beside the bed and held Ruth's hand. Ruth didn't need him to hold her hand, but she suspected he was far more nervous than she, and it was he who needed reassurance. The gel was still cold on Ruth's stomach, but what was showing up on the screen had the total attention of she and Harry. From the physical examination, Caroline had determined that Ruth was twelve weeks pregnant.

"There's definitely a baby in there," said Caroline, "so you can discount wind."

Ruth suspected that this was one of Caroline's regular lines, something she said to put at ease her new mothers-to-be.

"There's the amniotic sac," Caroline continued, "and there …... is the baby's heart beating away. It's a strong and steady heartbeat."

Harry squeezed Ruth's hand tightly, and she turned to look at him, her eyes full with tears.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" he asked her.

"It's just the hormones, Harry. I cry at everything these days."

"But this is something worth crying about," he added.

"We can safely say there's only one baby in there," Caroline continued, "and it looks like it's a good size, quite active and healthy."

"When can the sex of the baby be determined?" asked Harry.

"In the second trimester. At the next scan we'll be able to discover that, and I can tell you if you like, or you can decide you'd rather not know that in advance."

Harry and Ruth looked at one another, an unspoken decision to discuss that option some time soon, along with choosing possible names for their child.

"And one more thing," added Caroline. "I'll print out a picture of the scan if you like. Your first picture of baby."

"Can we have two?" asked Ruth. "One for each of us. It's just that Harry has a very responsible and stressful job, and he might want to carry a picture of his child with him at all times. Just to remind him of why he does what he does."

"Of course, Mrs Pearce, I'll be glad to."

As the scans were printing, Harry and Ruth exchanged a look of pure love, and then Harry bent towards Ruth and kissed her. This was why they did what they did each day, fighting the good fight.

Outside in the corridor, Harry had only just secreted the picture of the scan in an inside pocket of his jacket when his text message tone sounded. He read the text as they walked back down the corridor towards the hospital entrance.

"Christ!" he said to himself. "We're both needed at the Grid, Ruth. I have my driver waiting. You'll have to come with me. The Indian delegation have suspended the talks and gone back to their own hotel. I don't like the sound of this. Something is wrong."

Ruth didn't argue with that, not like she had before, when their relationship was tentative and undefined. She was tired, and sitting in the comfort of the chauffeur driven car with her husband, even if only for the twenty minutes it would take to get back to Thames House, sounded like a good way to be getting back to work.

* * *

When they arrived back, there was activity on the Grid. Discovering that the only member of the Indian delegation to still be in the hotel in which the talks were taking place was an Indian political analyst, Harry directed Ros to go to the hotel to find out more.

When, an hour later, it was clear that a bomb had been set somewhere in the hotel, and that the Pakistani President and the British Home Secretary were inside the hotel, as were Lucas and Ros, Harry made the decision to go to the hotel himself, chiefly to bring a coordinated presence to the security. Ruth felt her heart rate increase as mild panic set in. She wanted to say to him: _Look at the scan of your growing child, Harry. Do you want to be there to see him/her grow up? _

"Harry, you can't do this," was all she said.

"I have to," he said. "Someone has to take charge down there."

Their eyes met as he entered the pods. Hers were wide with fear, and his were set and determined. In this mood, Harry was immoveable.

Fifteen minutes later Harry rang from his car asking Ruth to get hold of the PM, so that he could contact the US President. The heads of state of the US and UK, along with the Chinese, were the only chance to bring a halt to the potential for a terror attack on the hotel. With no coordinated security presence at the hotel, orders needed to be given from higher up.

* * *

Ruth and Tariq watched the news feed feeling fearful and helpless. Ruth was no longer worried that Harry would put himself in danger. He would not go bounding into a hotel which had been wired with enough explosives to destroy most of it. He had so much to live for. He had one and a half people who depended upon him totally. Tariq, on the other hand, was concerned about family members living in Pakistan should conflict break out there. It was when the news feed showed the hotel exploding in flame that Ruth put a hand to her mouth. Last she'd heard from Harry, he'd told her that Ros was still inside.

* * *

Ruth resisted the urge to call Harry. She knew that when he was free, when he was ready, calling her would be top of his list of things to do. She kept busy. Intel was flowing fast, but much of it was contradictory, given that the facts from the bombing were still unclear. Eventually her mobile rang, Harry's name coming up on the screen.

"We lost Ros," he said quietly.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry."

"She was inside trying to get the Home Secretary out. He'd been drugged. We lost him also."

"And Russell Price? Where is he?"

"He was inside. He was killed by his own bomb. Poetic justice."

"What happens now, Harry?"

"I'll have to stay here for a while, at least until the media pack up and move on to something else."

"Do you want me to come over there? I can hold your hand, or at the very least, keep you company."

"No, Ruth. You go home. Get some rest. Look after our baby." She heard the smile in his voice.

"Harry …... if you, when you feel bad about things, just look at the photograph of the scan."

"I know, Ruth. I remember. I have to go. Someone with a microphone is gesturing to me."

"I love you, Harry."

"And I love you," he said quietly before he rang off.

* * *

Ten days later, she and Harry, and Tariq and Lucas attended a memorial service for Ros. It was a quiet and sober affair. Death is always sobering, especially when someone dies before their time. After the service, Harry and Ruth took a walk together in the church grounds.

"I need to talk to you about something," Harry said as they walked.

"I've been thinking also," replied Ruth.

Ruth stopped near a fence, and Harry stood close beside her, his arm around her waist, his face close to hers. "I'm thinking of retiring," he said quietly. "Ros was too young to die, and I can't help thinking that I may have already dodged my full quota of bullets. I don't want the next funeral you attend to be mine. And I can't play it safe just because I'm about to become a father again. I need to make a fundamental life change."

Ruth stared ahead of her, taking in what he'd just said. On the one hand, she would be overjoyed were Harry to retire from the security services. For years she had been afraid of something happening to him. On the other hand, she knew how much his job meant to him, and she didn't wish to be the cause of him letting go of something he loved.

"I can't continue to do to you what happened the day of the bombing."

Ruth turned to look at him, her face questioning.

"I know you were upset about me going to the hotel on the day of the bombing. Ruth, your face said it all. But you must know that I couldn't stay on the Grid – safe – while two of my best officers were inside the building and comms were down. Sometimes I have no choice in what I do, and that's what bothers me. My job isn't a safe one. I'm lucky to have lived this long."

"Harry, I understand what you're saying. I'll support whatever you decide, but don't make your decision yet. You're still upset about Ros. Give it a few months. Wait until the baby's born." She waited in silence before she said what no-one has been brave enough to say. "Ros's death isn't your fault, Harry. She had time to get out of the building before ... she knew what she was doing."

Suddenly, Harry put both arms around her and drew her close to him. "What would I do without you, Ruth?"

"Can you remember saying that the day I went away?" she said, her lips against his neck. "The day I went into exile."

"Yes. I meant it then, too, and if you rely on me only half as much as I rely on you, then it would be selfish of me to continue doing this job."

They held one another for some time.

"Thank you," he said at last. They both understood what he meant.

Then they walked back to the car hand-in-hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Thanks to all who have read this fic, and especially to those who have reviewed._**

* * *

_Harry's and Ruth's house - 6 months after the hotel bombing – 7.15 am:_

Harry had worked until 1.30 am, and so he'd given himself a late start to the day. He was hoping for a morning cuddle with his wife, but she was nowhere to be seen. Being so close to giving birth, he was hoping she'd be having a long lie-in. Suddenly his head cleared, and he imagined her lying on the kitchen floor in labour. He shot out of bed, threw on his robe, and hurried downstairs, only to find Ruth sitting at the kitchen table, also wearing her robe, a mug of tea in her hands, while she sang quietly to herself. Harry watched her from the doorway, still beguiled by her, still deeply in love with this extraordinary woman who, by some miracle of fate, had agreed to join her life with his.

"Come in, Harry," she said. "I'm singing to our child. He seems to like it."

"_He_?"

"I woke up from a dream. It was so vivid. Danny came to me – just like he looked when he was alive – and he told me we were about to have a little boy." She turned and smiled at him, her face as beautiful as he'd ever seen it, her eyes a clear grey-blue, the most honest eyes he knew. He hoped their child would have her eyes. "Danny said our little boy has been waiting a long time to come to us, for us to get our acts together. Those were the exact words Danny used. He said: _Your little boy has been waiting for you two to get your act together. He's been waiting for you and Harry to be his mum and dad. He'll he Harry's boy._ That's what Danny said to me in my dream …... and I believe it. Isn't that a miracle, Harry?"

Harry nodded, unable to speak for how moved he felt. Ruth's pregnancy dreams were the stuff of fantasy novels.

"We'll be finding out soon," Ruth continued. "I think he'll be born today."

"Go on."

"I feel different today, Harry. I feel the same way I used to feel when a big operation was about to start. All anticipation and a fast heart rate. There's something in the air."

It had taken him a while, but Harry had adjusted to Ruth's pregnancy personality. She'd become wise – or at least, wiser – and philosophical. One day when he was in a lighter mood, Lucas had said, "You're our resident Yoda, Ruth," and Harry had had to have the reference explained to him by Beth.

"I can't believe you haven't seen _Star Wars_, Harry," she'd said, incredulous.

"I have enough excitement every day in this place."

"But you have a son, don't you?" she continued. "Didn't you ever take him to the movies?"

"I was never home long enough to take him anywhere," Harry said, his voice sounding regretful.

* * *

On the day that Ruth had assured him their child would be born, Harry went to work as usual, only he started at eleven o'clock to compensate for his long day the day before. The first thing he did was to tender his resignation, effective in two weeks, and considering he was taking two weeks parental leave, his time left on the Grid could be counted in hours. He still had a lot of leave owing to him, and so was planning to take leave in lieu of working out his notice. The Home Secretary did not argue with his decision, and Harry walked away from the meeting feeling lighter and happier. Harry was also aware that the Home Secretary had been grooming Julian Sevigny, from Section C, to take over as section head of Section D. In the end, everyone was happy.

* * *

At 4.15 pm his phone rang.

"Ruth? Are you OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, "but I thought I should tell you that around an hour ago I went into labour."

"An hour ago? Why didn't you tell me then?"

"It's rather slow at the moment. I thought I'd wait a while, until the contractions were stronger. I know that you want to be involved, so that's why I'm ringing now."

"I'm coming home."

"Harry! There's not a lot happening yet. My water hasn't even broken. When it does, things are bound to speed up."

"I'm coming home. I need …... no, I _want_ to be with you. This is an important event for us, Ruth. Things here are quiet. I'll be home as soon as I can."

Harry turned to Beth, who had overheard most of his side of the conversation. "Ruth is in labour," he told her, failing to keep the smile from his face.

"Then go, Harry. Why are you hanging around here?"

He was about to enter the pods, when Beth called out to him. "Let us know how it goes, Harry. Tariq has been running a book on the baby's sex, and weight, and all that stuff."

Harry nodded to her before he entered the pods. His life was about to change.

* * *

Harry removed his shoes, his tie and his jacket and lay back against the cushions on the sofa, with Ruth resting against his chest. He supported her with his arms around her, and his knees either side of her. He instructed her to use his body to help her through the contractions. In between contractions they talked. They were each aware that this was to be the last time they'd be in their house together and alone. From now on, there would always be a child somewhere in the house with them. This both thrilled and terrified Harry.

"Do you ever think back to the first time we met?" she asked him, her head resting on his shoulder, having breathed through the last contraction, knowing that it would be around fifteen minutes before the next one.

"Often," he replied. "I'd never met anyone like you. You fascinated me right from the beginning."

"And I thought you were an arrogant prat, but a very sexy arrogant prat."

Harry laughed softly into her hair, hardly believing this was happening to him, to them.

"Looking back at who we were then, it's almost impossible to believe that we've ended up here, on this sofa, with me about to give birth to our child."

"You make this sound like a prison sentence, Ruth, but I know what you mean."

"I never saw myself having children, Harry. That is, not until we began having sex."

"You do know that the two are connected, Ruth."

She slapped him hard on the thigh. "Ouch!" he said.

"You didn't invent sex, Harry. Your parents were doing it long before you were born."

"Not a mental image I relish right now, Ruth."

"You do realise that this child inside me will be equally grossed out at any mention of us having sex. As the years go by we'll have to make love on the sly, and quietly, or else he'll be scarred for life."

"You're sure it's a he, aren't you?"

"Totally. I trust Danny."

It was then, at 8.50 in the evening, that Harry and Ruth settled on a name for their baby.

* * *

They had a light dinner of cold chicken and salads, and Harry drank a glass of wine. He then found a mattress protector in the hall cupboard, and placed this over the mattress on their bed, covering it with towels. "Just in case your water breaks," he explained.

After her next contraction, a relatively mild one, Harry suggested a slight change in approach.

"Do you trust me, Ruth?"

"You know I do."

"Just tell me to stop if you want me to stop."

Harry stacked pillows against the bedhead, and leaned back against them, instructing Ruth to again lay between his legs, her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder. As she did that, he very gently he untied her dressing gown and opened it at the front, his face next to hers. His hands then began the familiar dance across her skin, taking in her neck, collar bone, breasts – fully engorged with milk for her baby – her swollen abdomen. He lightly flicked her nipples with his thumbs, drawing a murmur of pleasure from her lips. He worshipped her abdomen with his palms and fingers, bringing his right hand under the swelling of her belly at the same time as he turned her face to kiss her deeply. Her moans gave him permission to continue. He spent the next contraction rubbing his palms over her abdomen, as though supporting the weight of the child inside her. Soon after the contraction was over, Harry's fingers found her clitoris, and he stimulated her gently.

"God, Harry," Ruth said, leaning her head back against him, her lower body squirming.

"Enjoy it, sweetheart," he murmured close to her ear.

Ruth's orgasm was deep and long-lasting, and he kept up the stimulation throughout, until she asked him to stop.

"That feels …... amazing," Ruth said at last. "I hadn't planned on that."

"I read somewhere that orgasm during labour releases endorphins and facilitates labour."

"I don't know about that, but it certainly took my mind off the prospect of pushing a watermelon out through my vagina."

Harry couldn't help but laugh softly, his face buried in her neck. "I love you," he said quietly.

"And right now I love you, too, Harry, but once this baby is trying to burst its way out of me be prepared for me to feel otherwise. I will assure you in advance that any expressions of hatred of you are likely to be temporary."

A half hour later, Harry brought her to orgasm again, and soon after that her waters broke, and that was the cue to get her to hospital. They were both grateful for the hours they'd spent home alone during Ruth's early labour. It had been a special time, one which they would refer to often in the years ahead.

* * *

Harry stayed with his wife throughout her labour. He held her hand, wiped her forehead, gave her drinks, and encouraged her to breathe through her contractions. Occasionally she swore at him, especially when the contractions were deep and painful, and he sounded annoyingly cheerful and encouraging. Just after 8 in the morning, she gave the final push which forced their son out of her body and into the world. As the baby was taken by staff to be checked over, and after the afterbirth was delivered, Ruth collapsed into Harry's arms and cried with happiness and exhaustion. He held her until she settled.

Once he'd been checked by a doctor, the baby was handed back to Ruth for his first feed. Harry sat beside her, speechless with wonder and close to tears. He'd not been in the country for the births of either of his older two children, and so he was grateful to have been involved in the birth of his third child. After the baby had finished feeding at Ruth's breast, she was wheeled back to her room and she slept for a long time. Harry held his son in his arms and the two stared at one another.

"Welcome, little man," Harry said, rocking the child, kissing his cheek and forehead. "I'm your Dad, and that beautiful woman over there sleeping is your Mum. I believe you've been waiting for us."

Once his wife and son were sleeping, Harry went home. He needed a shower, a change of clothes, and a few hours sleep, but before he fell on the bed to sleep, he sent a multi-media message to Beth, Tariq, Lucas, Malcolm, Catherine and Graham – a photo, taken by a nurse, of Ruth, he and the baby. The message he included with the photograph was: _Daniel Harry James Pearce, born at 8.06 am, weighing 7 lb 1 oz. Ruth & Daniel well, Harry over the moon!_

* * *

_**This is the end of this fic.**_

_**Part 3 of the trilogy – called "Inside The Vortex" - will be up soon...**_


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